Fallout:The Chain That Binds
by DeathBladeVI
Summary: The Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel has been the main power ever since the Calculator War. Now that the NCR have the BOS in their last legs, they embark on a war to restore Brotherhood power over Northern California. For in the Brotherhood, the last line of defense, is the Chain That Binds. Meanwhile, the Courier assembles a team to destroy the New California Republic...
1. Chapter 1

_The Midwest. It had always been a hellhole, full of raiders, Super Mutants, cannibals, and Reavers. But then at the exact time that the Vault Dweller changed the course of history, the Warrior changed it as well. When the MWBOS had encountered new enemies, new tech, they turned to him to lead. _

_He lead with excellence, crushing all of the Brotherhood's enemies while integrating the defectors and disillusioned. As he decimated enemy after enemy, until the arrival of the Calculator. _

_He lead with pride and ferocity, managing to become the Calculator. Now the Midwest is starting to reconnect with their brothers in the west. An expedition had been sent to the west, in order to find out what happened. But will happen?_

_War. Because War, war never changes._

The familiar shape of a Humvee was passing by several burnt out cars, survivors of the nuclear war, though they were all destroyed. Rolling out along the interstate, in the former United States, the Humvee had an armored figure manning the .50 cal machine gun at the top.

"Foley! You alright up there?" asked a filtered voice. It belonged to a man in combat armor, colored steel grey, with a combat helmet. The Humvee banked to the right in order to dodge a small burnt out car. The armored figure on top, Foley, was in a grey suit of combat armor, slightly more armored, with an upgraded combat helmet that held the still new and improved HUD that had been fused to his nervous system.

"Yeah! Knight Commander, we got a checkpoint ahead!" and the gun swiveled to the north. The black clouds rolled along the desolate plains, while the interstate was choke full of raiders and vagrants. The checkpoint was full of raiders armed with assault weapons and heavy weapons. A missile launcher was pointed straight at the Humvee, but he didn't fire. They hadn't felt the liberation of the Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel. The grey hulk in the back, with yellow demonic eyes, curved horns on the top of his helmet. Heavy layers of armor interlocked around his body, while his signature laser rifle was resting in his lap. A golden sword, along with three cogs on a gear was painted on his armor, on his shoulder blades and his breastplate. It was the Midwestern Brotherhood power armor, crafted in Chicago, while the laser rifle had been scavenged in the former Vault 0 in the Cheyenne Mountains, now the headquarters of the MWBOS.

"Looks like raiders. Hold on." and the knight commander, a gruff veteran of several border conflicts with the Remnants of the Enclave in Kansas, ordered the Humvee the stop. The Humvee braked, and grind to a stop. The Knight Commander stepped out of the vehicle, hand on his laser rifle as he called out with a gruff voice.

"Foley! Lay down some suppressing power if I don't come back." and Foley nodded, before cocking the .50 cal machine gun. The Knight Commander made his way towards the driver seat, where the driver was tense.

"Dunn. If I don't come back, I need you to head back to the convoy and inform them. We need to head straight towards to San Francisco. The California chapter should be there." Dunn, a Brotherhood Knight, looked stunned before nodding. The Knight Commander didn't feel anything but to do his duty as a Knight of the Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel. He had been there when his town was fighting Super Mutants over a damn nuclear bomb. The Warrior had struck the Super Mutants hard, smashing them apart and giving him a small sense of pride and comfort.

"Steel be with you Knight Commander."

"Steel be with you also, Knight." and the feeling of dread started to spread throughout Dunn. But the Knight was also trained not to show any emotions. He remembered Atticus training him all those years ago. The whippings after his actions lead to his squad being ambushed and almost destroyed by raiders. Only the timely arrival of the Super Mutant detachment of the Brotherhood managed to destroy the raiders with heavy weapons and explosives. It was the worst shit he had ever been in.

_Hope he comes back, _Dunn thought, and his hands rested on the AK-47 rifle in his hands. The checkpoint was now being approached by the Knight Commander. The clanking of the armored boots on the cracked pavement echoed throughout the wastes, and the rolling thunder screamed all across the plains. Growls and howls of the wild dogs. He didn't reach far, for the raiders had already aimed at him with their weapons. The Knight Commander chuckled dryly.

"Open!" a dirty skinned white man with a green mohawk, and green grass eyes as wild as the wasteland met the Knight Commander. The demonic yellow eyes of the power armor helmet met the molten assortment of armor that had greeted him so warmly.

"Fire!" Foley could swear that he heard the Knight Commander laugh out loud.

The raiders opened fire almost immediately, and the Knight Commander leaped out of the way, nestling himself on a small ruin of a nuclear powered car. The raiders fired with an almost fevered passion, their drug induced minds telling them to fire at the shiny guy in armor. The shiny guy in armor fired back with his laser rifle, nesting it on the door of the car. Firing a single laser, it struck one of the raiders, a seventeen year old girl with dirty blonde hair, wrapped in twin pigtails, was turned into ash. Her molecules were overheated and torn apart, and her bodies chemical structure was unable to adapt fast enough to combat the laser. She vanished and her remains were swept by the gusts of wind.

Another raider fired back with a 10mm sub machine-gun, the bullets pinging off the nuclear engine. Flames started to furl along, licking the edge of the engine compartment. The Knight Commander saw this, and panicked slightly before leaping off into the other direction, and the car blew up, nuclear power exploding shrapnel and busted car parts raining down on his weathered power armor, scratching them and denting the right leg armor piece. The raiders cheered as the Knight Commander was buried under a mountain of car debris.

"Foley!" yelled Dunn. The gunner and the driver had always been on the same page and Foley fired the .50 cal, the bullets burying deep into the sandbags. The cackling fire of the .50 cal spread throughout the land, and the rumbling of treads against dead grass was heard as well. The raiders, hearing the rumble of treads, turned and their cheers turned into cries of despair. The sound of the treads was coming from something that was found abandoned on the streets of Newton, during the Calculator War of 2161-2162, and was heavily modified. It was steel colored, with barb wire covering the chassis of the tank. The Brotherhood insignia was etched on the armored treads, and the seven tally marks were etched on the turret.

_The Flayed Man. _That was the name of the tank. The tank's main gun turned towards the checkpoint.

"_This is_ _The Flayed Man. Anyone order a tank?" _a young childish voice roared into the radio of Foley. The young black skinned gunner stared in disbelief as the tank fired, and smoke and fire erupted from the gun. It smashed straight into the checkpoint, and wood cracked and splattered, raining down on the raiders. One raider was impaled on a wood pale, gutting from her gut. Another had been vaporized completely, turned into a fine red paste. The small checkpoint had been completely decimated and destroyed.

The Brotherhood of Steel forces continued on their way. As the Knight Commander was dug out of the rubble, he shook off the dust, and headed straight into the Humvee. The tank rumbled behind, as a massive convoy was seen. Armored Personal Carriers, more tanks, Humvees, and buggies were seen. Scouts were stirring up dust clouds on the plains, as the screaming rage of an UH-1 Iroquois thundered above the convoy. The West would see the strength of the Midwest, and the NCR would feel the wrath of the Brotherhood of Steel.

"When do we break the siege?" asked Foley as the passing convoy continued. The Knight Commander looked at Foley, before clasping him in the shoulder.

"Soon. Then we head back east and fuck girls all night long!" the Commander exclaimed. Foley just shook his head in disgust.

"I can't believe you are a ghoul. Why don't the ladies complain about you?"

"Because I let them ride all night long!"

"God, why the hell am I in your squad." as he climbed back into the turret, firing off a burst to scare a bird off.

**So new Fallout story. Inspired by Fight Goes on.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Note. Please review. Thank you for all of those who did. I am aiming for about three reviews for the chapter. Thanks to all who are regulars. If it is just a nice job, terrible job, or a length review, I don't care. They are all awesome! Big inspiration from the Tides of Change, and Fallout Supremacy One Series by eaglescorch. This story by me is terrible and is filled with fluff and other stuff. What can you expect? I write stuff for Kickin It and Freaking Adventure Time for Gods Sake! This chapter is way to fast for my opinion. **

A brown skinned man, with shaggy black hair, broad chest, and powerful arms, looked over the city of the New Vegas. He was in the traditional garb of the Apache tribe, as a tribute to his dead tribe. Wielding his simple hunting rifle, the Apache walked down, his warpaint screaming at the desert. The lights of New Vegas shined brightly, and he smiled. He watched as the traffic on the way to New Vegas dance like the waves of the lake his village was built near, and a single tear left his grey eyes. Wiping them away, he continued on his way, watching the Brotherhood of Steel patrol the I-95, the grey hulks lumbered down the highway, their laser rifles scanning the area for threats and technology.

His thoughts wandered to Maria, the Hispanic girl he had met a few years back. She was so sweet and beautiful, and he wanted to know her better. But her father was the clan chief, and he was but a simple brave, barely out of his teens. Now he was twenty-five, and he had killed more men than what was used to be in his village. The night stars brightened, and he smiled in wonderment as a red star gazed down at him. His hunting rifle in his hands, he slowly scoured the surrounding wasteland, looking for his next meal. He soon spotted a nightstalker racing across the desert, chasing after a struggling molerat. Raising his rifle, he lined up the shot. Anticipation ran through his body, and his breathing and heart rate immediately slowed. Holding his breath, the hot wisps of the breeze made his wild hair dance around the night's embrace. Pulling the trigger in a slow motion move, the .308 bullet exploded out of the barrel, and spun right at the target. As the nightstalker lunged at the molerat, a starling roar soon impacted its skull, and bits of brain and blood smothered the desert sand. Red and black blood erupted from the cranium blow, and the Apache jumped with glee, running straight to the nightstalker, while the relieved molerat shuffled closer.

"Ah, fresh meat!" The Apache chuckled, and he watched the molerat walk slowly near the nightstalker, sniffing it with its large nose.

"Thanks for the assist partner." The Molerat chuckled. The Apache looked bemused at a talking molerat, but it was the wasteland, rads did some messed up stuff to animals. Shoot, he had seen those massive green hulks they call Super Mutants!

"You're welcome Mr...what is your name?" Asked the Apache, for he was curious about the molerat.

"Its Misses, and its Jane." The Apache then extended his right hand.

"Well it is nice to meet you Misses Jane. I am Grey Wolf, the Last Apache." And the Molerat, speaking with a western accent, extended her right paw. The Apache took it and shook it with much vigor, and Jane let out a hearty chuckle. As Grey Wolf cut the nightstalker into steaks, he listened to Jane talk about her life as an intelligent molerat, and he soon spoke about his life as the Last Apache, though there were hundreds of them living throughout Arizona. Scattered throughout the mountains and deserts, fighting the Legion. They were the reason why the NCR didn't get their asses kick in the first place, Grey Wolf boasted, for they had smashed the Legion Army heading towards the borders. Now, it was just a stalemate, and Grey Wolf just laughed at it. He was in the Mojave for a reason, he was so tired of the constant war in Arizona. It was brought him on the point of insanity, and visiting the New Vegas Clinic was helping him gain more control of his mind. He still acted like a little kid sometimes, but he was well versed in war, and his skills with a rifle were unmatched.

Waving goodbye to Jane, he whistled lightly, and two yellow eyes gleamed from the mountain top. Howling with a sorrow that could be heard for miles, Grey Wolf answered it, for it was the Howl of Sorrow. Gathering his inner voice, he howled at the top of his lungs, the mournful cry burning its mark into the surrounding area. Grabbing his tomahawk, he whipped around, only to see a sleek figure. Its fur was glossy, but it was matted and dirty, and the yellow eyes gleamed right at him.

"Here boy." Grey Wolf then leaned down, and the figure raced towards him, and jumped straight at his chest. Paws moved and the figure was revealed to be a wolf.

"Hey Ruff." And the black wolf cuddled against Grey Wolf, the soft fur being heaven for the Apache. He loved the feel of the fur, and had gone to sleep, dreaming of home.

"Lets go." And the two headed right towards New Vegas. Gliding down, they passed the huge military fortress of Camp McCarran, the home of the Mojave Armed Forces, and under the command of General Craig Boone. Bitter Springs, where Grey Wolf had once lived, was now a thriving town, under the careful hand of former Khan Manny Vargas.

Passing through the old ruins, they plucked an old magazine, Grey Wolf promising Ruff to read it to him later. Hefting his rifle, he descended into a ruined two story house, the roof caved in. Climbin the ancient stairs, he lifted his rifle, and saw the telltale signs of the New Vegas Rangers. The familiar black armor was facing him, but the demonic red eyes were looking somewhere else. He heard the familiar crack of a sniper rifle, and waddled down the stairs, his mind racing. Strapping his rifle to his back, he stroked the handle of his tomahawk, as he continued to walk at a brisk pace. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the Gun Runners closing up shop, and the gunsmiths returning to their building.

He saw the red sun rise at the other side of the world, and grinned, his teeth caked with yellow. Grey Wolf was not a very clean person, and he turned, to see the gate to Freeside. The King member standing right next to it, carrying a massive .44 magnum, whistled, and the grinding of the gate was heard, and it swung open, to reveal the slum of Freeside. As he walked past the beggars and the overpriced mercenaries, he then heard a sound he had not heard in a long time.  
The feral cry of a druggie. Smiling, for it had been about an hour ever since he received any action, he drew his tomahawk and his pistol, a clean black 9mm pistol he had nicknamed Gutsy, and whirled himself into action.

The first druggie was dirty, with black grime etched on his face, and was wearing a dirty white t-shirt and baggy camo pants. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was carrying a lead pipe, and it was caked with dried blood and rust. This druggie had seen combat before, Grey Wolf realised. Smiling to himself, he lead out his Apache War Cry, and leaped into battle.

The druggie swung wildly, and Grey parried it with his tomahawk. The blade of the tomahawk was made of iron, and the strong axehead smashed against the lead pipe. A crowd was gathering, and Wolf parried another wild swing to his head, before bashing his fist against the side of the Druggie. Struggling with each other, he kicked the foot of the right leg, hearing the bones splinter and crack gave Grey a strange sense of satisfaction. His lips etched in a bloody grin, he let the tomahawk sing against the lead pipe, one time, two times, three times. The lead pipes rusty exterior was being battered to pieces, and the Druggie, with a rare sense of foreboding, wretched his weapon away, just to roundhouse kick Grey in the mouth.

A warm metallic liquid soon filled Grey's mouth, and Grey and the druggie stopped. Raising his hand to his mouth, he felt the small trickle leak onto his hand, and he saw the red messy blood ooze from his hand. Spitting to the dirt sidewalk, he charged, smashing right into the druggie, and the Psycho the guy must have been using woke him into battle again. Roaring with a small sense of death, he swung the lead pipe over his head, and right towards Grey's head. Ducking, Grey saw an opening, as the leg he had kicked gave way. Flipping his tomahawk around, he slammed the head right into the druggie's skull, the iron biting deep. The druggie stopped in his tracks, with grey matter exploding right out of the brain, and blood and brain matter splattered everywhere. Smiling once again, he whipped the blade around, and threw it, letting it spin three times before it slammed right into a thug, who was also caked in dirt and grime. This thug was wearing armor, a mismatch of tires and car parts, and Grey recognized this man as a former raider. He had a huge bumper sword, and Grey then looked past the guy's shoulder, as he got up, and jerked the blade out, throwing it to the side.

"The Night Swordsman..." The gathering crowd cooed, and Grey Wolf licked his chapped lips. Dropping his hand to a sheath on his vest, he grabbed and pulled out a bone knife, the sharpened blade whittled to a fine point. Snarling ferally, he circled around the Night Swordsman, and the bumper sword he carried. Many former raiders at moved to Freeside after the NCR-Legion War. The Night Swordsman was a former raider, very dangerous, and had amassed a huge bounty, over a thousand caps by the NCR, but nobody was brave enough to march right into his cave at night and engage him. It was said that only the Courier was able to confront him, and barely made out alive.

The Swordsman let out a primitive roar, before raising his sword, to prepare to bring it down. Grey charged forward, and the Swordsman brandished the sword in a wide arc, the deadly steel shaving a few hairs of off Grey's chest, and the massive raider growled in anger when he saw his first attack had not killed Grey. Grey moved within the reach of the weapon, and slashed down, the bone knife gutting at the Night Swordsman knee, but the huge man spun with surprising agility, before slamming his shoulder right into Grey's chest. Grey wasn't a small man by any accounts, and like one tribal girl on the banks of the Salt Lake can say he didn't lack in packages; but when a two hundred and fifty pound monster slammed his weight right into you, it kinda hurt. The shoulder slammed right into his chest, snapping a rib. The Night then grabbed Grey by the neck, his massive hand squeezing the life out of Grey. Black lines and spots began to appear, and his vision was becoming blurry. Gasping for any precious amount of air, he started to claw at the big man's hands.

He then started to move his hand towards his holster, where he had sheathed the 9mm. Stretching his langly arm, he managed to grasp the handle of the weapon. Pulling out with all his strength, he pressed the tip of the pistol right into the gut of the man, where no armor was located. Clenching the trigger, five shot rang out, all of them passing through the soft flesh of the giant man. Slowly, the pressure of the choking was released, before the Night Swordsman released his black hands from the neck. Struggling to inhale, he could see the giant man was still alive, but he was weak. Grabbing the Swordsman own bumper sword, he admired the fine craftsmanship, before driving the blade right into the heart of the Swordsman. The Swordsman grabbed the blade as it was thrust into his gut, but his grip weakened.

Tossing the blade aside, he reached into his vest, grabbing a small bottle from his pouch, with the labeling scrawled in poor cursive, called hydra. Having brewed it himself, he downed it, before licking his lips. The taste was nasty, but stimpacks were expensive. Natural ingredients and great knowledge were priceless. As he laid down, letting his rib heal, he hobbled over to the massive corpse of the Swordsman, and retrieving the massive blade and his tomahawk, he chopped off the nasty head of the raider, and placed it in his pack. He then proceeded to where he knew he could get caps. Passing through the slums, he saw the massive robots called Securitrons, the mono wheeled death machines, with a gruff cartoon of a soldier. As they wheeled towards him, he grabbed the head, and tossed it.

"Scanning head...head is now dead bounty target Travis Night. Bounty to...scanning...Grey Wolf. Presenting caps." And a small ching was heard, and soon two thousand caps were seen, in a large leather bag. Grabbing it, before the Securitrons could even talk, he lifted it up.

"Welcome to New Vegas." And the giant metal gates swung open, while the Securitrons vaporized another Freeside thug, who was trying to reach New Vegas.  
As Grey Wolf sauntered into the Strip, he heard a low whistle. Turning he saw the familiar black garb of the Rangers. But it looked cleaner, newer, more powerful looking. The red lens were all the same, and smiling for he knew who it was. His wolf, who had blood coated around his maw, purred softly, very unusual for a wolf.

"Courier Six. I am the Last Apache. Now how can I help the One who Walks the Lonesome Road?" And the Last Apache grasped the Courier's hand. The Courier looked down as if wondering who the hell this fucker was doing, before pulling of the helmet. In its place was a beautiful Mexican woman, standing at five foot five with flowing brownish black hair, a soft smile, and deep and meaningful brown eyes. Her nose was a little big, but Grey was astonished at who it was.

Here stood his lost love, the one who stole his heart, the one who was captured by the Legion.

"Hey Grey. Its been a long time, hasn't it?" The soft voice brought back new life into Grey. The soft lavender smell he was intoxicated with, the fresh leaves that always accompanied her was there still, and he found himself in love all over again.

"Hey Maria. How is my princess doing?" His own voice, usually filled with bandy words and happiness, was filled with a soft sorrow and softness. Usually, he would have just laughed it all off, but no. This was serious.

"Very well. Mr. House treats me very well."

"That is good Maria."

"Where have you been all these years. My father is still looking for you."

"Here and there. Been around the block, killing and chilling, like a villain."

"Same old Grey Wolf. But that was made me drawn to you in the first place."

"You know you love me."

"How are things back in Arizona?"

And that was made him come back to the present. He was on the streets of Freeside, his tomahawk dangling from his belt. Grabbing his rifle after rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he went to The King's School, where he was soon greeted by another familiar face.

"Hey Cat. How you doing?"


	3. Chapter 3

**I liked this chapter. One of my best I ever wrote. My goal is five reviews,with a minimum of two. I really want your guys input, and thanks to all of you who have reviewed. NCR aint got nothing on the brotherhood. It seems a little rushed, but hey, at least its 2400 words. **

The dark black rain was beating down on the old city. San Francisco, the once beaming jewel of California, with its beautiful buildings, the Golden Gate Bridge, and other historical buildings such as the infamous Alcatraz prison, was a former shadow of itself. The buildings were derelict, massive crumbles of suburban home smashed to pieces by the nuclear war. Random vagrants were milling around the city, cleaning weapons and checking stocks of food, others planning to head into the country to forge for food. Everyone was avoiding the ever increasing NCR patrols, the familiar pitter-patter of combat boots among muddy ground, the sloshing of water as they trudged forward. The Brotherhood was barely able to maintain their position the north of the city, and the patrols were hunting down stragglers, as the constant ratatatatat of fire and the swooshing of lasers could vouch for.

One such patrol was chasing down a Brotherhood Paladin, their small arms cackling as bullets ricocheted off of fallen steel beams, and a laser was returning fire. Adrenaline was pumping through their veins, chemical euphoria coursing through their bodies as they gave chase after the armored monster. Laser fire erupted and a NCR Private yelled in pain as his leg was struck, the laser beam scorching his combat pants. Screeching in ever increasing agony, he went down, and his service rifle went to automatic, as a result of him pressing the trigger.

Bullets erupted, slamming into a nearby pile of rubble, held together precariously by a tight rope. One bullet smashed through the rock hard rope, cutting in half, and the rubble loosened, before being unleashed. Piles of rock and steel started their roll down, mowing down any person in their path. Four NCR soldiers vanished in a fine mist of red, being squashed to death. Leaping over the sudden barricade, the remaining five continued their pursuit, side stepping everything in that got in their way. The NCR Sergeant ordered a burst of fire, and gunshots caught the Paladin on the shoulder part of his armor. It was dented, rusted after months of constant use without service, barely operational.

"Get him boys." And another volley of fire smashed through the pavement, bringing fist sized amount of concrete to the air, raining down on the Paladin. Continuing his desperate sprint, he vaulted over a ledge, leaping from the lower street to the main street, and his power armor made a waning grunt as he landed onto his feet. Rusted and damaged cars were everywhere, and the trolley cars that San Francisco was famous for littered the center of the street. Downed power lines made unsafe crackles of electricity, not very good for a guy in Power Armor. Trudging ahead, he sprinted down the street, cursing that he was in power armor. Firing back at the NCR squad, he cut down another NCR grunt, but he had to eject the drained microfusion cell, and slammed in his last one.

"He's going this way!" Yelled the Sergeant, and that made the Paladin more feral, tearing down the street like a man possessed, and using his superior strength, smashed through a car that was in the way, his hydraulics in the armor groaning with protest. Taking a plasma grenade from his chest, he primed it, before chucking it behind him, the green slowly bouncing towards a car. The NCR grunts and the Sergeant passed right by it, and the grenade made a terrifying sound, and wisps of green and red mixed together, as the car exploded with it, vaporizing the squad in an instant. Scorch marks were everywhere, the mini-nuclear explosion wiping all traits of the men. The only signs were five NCR dogtags hanging from a dead oak tree.

_That was close. Good thing I ran this way, otherwise I would have been a goner._ Taking a second to regain his breath, and reflect on his narrow escape from the NCR, Paladin Jake Russell approached the scorch marks at a steady jog. He was tired, running for six days straight did that to you. It was hopeless, he thought, for the Brotherhood was on its last legs. The smoke from NCR artillery was trailing from the former Brotherhood bunker, and the NCR Vertibirds were flying everywhere. Lost Hills had been lost a year ago; the Brotherhood having fled to its last bunkers in the north, where the NCR was now rooting them out, one by one.

The only hope was for the other chapters around the former United States to help them. But the only one that was nearest was in Nevada, and in the last reports the Elders had gotten was that they were on their last legs as well. Their communications were reduced to short wave radios, and their own helmets. Gone were the days of Brotherhood technological dominance, the way that people looked at them. They had been guardians of humanity. Now they were hermits, hoarding technology like it was sacred artifacts, bringing in scraps of it, worshiping it even.

Kicking a random rock, he continued his way towards the last known Brotherhood bunker. Bunker Gamma. It was somewhere in the jungles of the north, where the Shi were located. War erupted between the Brotherhood and the NCR, after a small period of peace. after the NCR had finished off the Legion, NCR propaganda had told them,they would smash the Brotherhood to pieces; and how were they to doubt their word? Their informants had been rooted out or forced to flee years ago, the California chapter was on its last legs, with plans to detonate a nuclear weapon in Bunker Gamma, as their junior Paladins, Knights, and Scribes to flee to the friendly towns of Oregon. SacTown was out. It was in control of a Raider faction called The Judgement, waging war on both the NCR and the Brotherhood.

Grimacing at the thought of the Judgement, he knew that if the Brotherhood was as powerful as they were back in the day, they would have wiped the floor with the Judgement, but they couldn't. They were too weak. Taking the dogtags, he promised to drop them off at the nearest NCR base, he pocketed them, before walking down the street. The boom of artillery was heard, and the whirl of Vertibirds as they fluttered above, prancing like donkeys. Sometimes one of them would fire a missile, and a flash and explosion was heard.

_More Brothers dead. More of my brothers dead. Dead, dead, Dead! _Yelling anger, he fired a single beam from his laser, melting a small rock. Kicking it to the side,the frustration of the past few months welled in him. Taking off his helmet, he threw the silver dirt tarred T-51b helmet to the ground. His dirty matted black hair was covered in grime, and his six foot build was concealed in the power armor. Powerful rippling muscles were in encased in inches of hardened steel, powered by a nuclear fission pack, or something like that, and it was sleek and efficient, and it made him more powerful.

"And yet this piece of tech couldn't save my family. His mind flashed back to the horrible day that was known as the The Great Exodus to the North.

_Fire was everywhere. Artillery arced and screeched as it pounded against the steel door of the bunker. Brothers were dying, being cooked alive in the fire. Their armor couldn't save them, being encased in steel was not a good recipe to surviving fires. In his combat armor, he sprinted down the length of the chain link fence. In front of him was his mother, being raped right in front of him. He couldn't feel the heat, only the cold as the bullet ripped through his throat...The cold. The cold. Coldness. Darkness overtook him as the Elder smashed his laser pistol against the NCR ranger. The Cold. The ice cold. _

That had cost him the ability to speak. He cursed the day, the overcast day, with the rains of death sprinkling over his matted black hair. His ice cold eyes were burning with hatred, when he heard the telltale signs of a howitzer. Hand cranking, he drew his laser rifle, pointing right at the artillery encampment. The massive muzzle of the howitzer, as it lined up with the massive bunker known as Gamma. Steel walls encircled it, while Brotherhood personnel were busy running around, avoiding the sporadic fire coming from the NCR lines. Rangers in their black armor and red demon lens were firing their massive sniper rifles, and not for the first time, he felt a large pit in his stomach as a Paladin lost his head to a massive sniper bullet. A man in a rustic, ancient, and heavily used piece of brown combat armor, was directing the fire at the bunker. The steel walls were marked with scorch marks, where the 105mm shells had contacted, but the massive walls had been reinforced to take the shells.

Machine gun nests arced around the bunker walls, with all of them firing continuously at the NCR lines, as the brown wave of death surged forward. Rifles barked at the Brotherhood. Suddenly, the bright flashes of anti-air weaponry started, bringing a little hope to his life. But as his hopes and spirits were soaring as NCR Vertibirds were dropping from the sky, three men in black armor and dusters ran up, carrying massive launchers. Football shaped mini-nukes were being carried by another two men. Methodically loading them, the whine of a catapult was heard, smashing right into the nest of anti-aircraft weaponry. Hopelessness replaced the pale hope, and the darkness surged ahead, and he remembered what his mother had said, the last words she ever uttered.

_Dark skies, dark words, dark times, and Darkness plagues the land. Hopelessness. That is what is called. _

The morning cold subsided, and the afternoon began anew, with the red sun beating down on the city. The bunker's walls had been smashed down. He was now in a derelict building, resting. Waiting for the NCR to follow through their destruction of the last Brotherhood in California. Flashes of light bind through the windows, and cracks in the plaster, and the firing of artillery.

More fire continued throughout the night, and the screams of the wounded was heard, and the explosions rocked through the night. Grabbing his laser rifle and his helmet, he wandered the streets of San Francisco, loading, and reloading his rifle. As he heard the telltale signs of combat boots, and he knew what was gonna happen. Soon the desert brown armor of NCR grunts surrounded him, pointing their rifles at him. He smiled his crooked smile, knowing it was his last day on this fucked up world.

"Brotherhood scum. Surrender!" And Paladin Russell knew what he had to do. He raised the laser rifle, and out came three beams of red. One disintegrated the shoulder of a NCR grunt, another struck the breastplate of another grunt, melting the mocking two headed bear. The final beam struck down the lead grunt, making a pile of ash.

As the grunts raised their rifles, all twenty of them, he dropped the rifle, having depleted all of his ammo. Drawing the straight razor he hadn't used in weeks, the rustic metal, giggling in the moonlight, his laugh erupted from his throat. The damaged vocal cords rung with the rusty laugh, one of which hadn't been used in years.

Charging he slashed forward, the metal glinting with madness. Fresh blood erupted, and the red seemed to blend in with the splattered bodies of the NCR. Smashing into a NCR grunt, he threw the razor, and it emboldened itself into the grunt's throat. Finding himself surrounded once more, he looked up. Moonlight beamed down, forming a searchlight on him. The silver armor he wore reflected off it.

"You are surrounded. Surrender and you will live, fight and you will die." Jake thought for a moment. And then he made his choice. And he chose to die. Growling like a feral ghoul, he charged forward, and he watched as his fist caved in the face of another grunt. The flash of guns as his body hit the ground. His armor caved in, and flares of pain erupted everywhere.

He then saw the snicker of the lead NCR trooper as he placed his dirty boot on top of his chest. Swooping down, the trooper grabbed his helmet, and yanked it off his head. His black hair was still matted and dirty, his black beard furry as a bear; ironic wasn't it?

"Say your last words now, for you die." And he raised his rifle. The thundering of artillery was heard, but then a new noise was added. The roar of jet engines. Soon, Jake heard the swooshing of nuclear engines, dropping bombs everywhere. He soon felt free. The crashing of power armor clashed through the night, and soon the laser beams and the whine of miniguns drowned the noise of death.

And he could only hear one thing...

_The Chain That Binds..._

It was whispered, something that hadn't been uttered in almost a century. _The Chain that Binds..._Gleaming yellow eyes were followed by devil horns. Hardened black power armor was seen, vaporizing NCR troopers everywhere. The five thousand strong NCR troopers were being melted down to molecules, and the cascade of explosions of fire and blood.

The cackling of Brotherhood men and women as they charged forward. How fortunes turned. Trails of smoke followed the fireworks that lit up the sky, bringing bright flashes of red and green, bringing light to the dark city. The hopelessness slowly evaporated, as it was replaced by the his rising heart. He was seeing the Brotherhood snatch the reigns of defeat and turn them into the whips of victory.

And then he slipped into darkness. Swirls of black swamped him, as he heard the cries of the victorious. Chanting that hadn't been heard in over a century.

_The Chain that Binds, The Chain That Binds, The Chain That Binds..._


	4. Jackson

**_Thank you for all the reviews, favorites, follows; huge thanks to eaglescorch, major inspiration for my Fallout stories. Steve, I got you man, I'm updating today. I got one weekend before I am being forced to write a story for my sister, the explanation is in my other updated stories. Please review. Also, I am accepting OCs for MWBOS, NCR, the Independent State of Mojave. You know the drill, Name, How old, background, faction, all that wonderful things. Especially need OCs for Independent State of Mojave, at least five. No OCs in Review unless guest. OCs will be submitted via PM otherwise, I am going to just ignore your OC request. So again, send in OCs, and please review. No flames, just constructive criticism._**

**_Warning. A little steamy, sorry for this, not the best writer for that. I apologize in advance for the shittiness of this chapter, but please bare with me._**

**_Mojave Brotherhood of Steel_**

**_Hidden Valley, Independent State of Mojave Special Forces Division Headquarters, Bunker 2C._**

**_March 25th, 2283_**

**_1100 HRS_**_ **PT**_

In the bunker of the former Mojave Brotherhood of Steel, a young man, no more than the age of twenty was being yelled out. His laser rifle was firing at the target over a hundred yards away, but it was hitting everything but that. The stone man was the bane of the existence of the Initiates that trained with the Brotherhood. This Initiate stood at six foot, with a tall wiry frame. His black hair was cut short, while his tanned skin was smooth like a rock. Light hazel eyes hesitated before locking with determination, and he looked down the sights of the laser rifle, before squeezing the trigger.

Three beams of light shot forward, each going at about ten times the speed of sound. And yet none of them were able to hit the stone target. The head of the training was not pleased.

Initiate Jackson regretted the day he signed up for the Mojave Special Forces. He was a part of the Independent State of Mojave Militia, being stationed in Novac, looking out for any raiders or Legion remnants. Now he was a Initiate getting his ass yelled out by a former Mojave Brotherhood of Steel Paladin, now a proud member of the ISMSFD, one of the longest acronym the post Great War world had ever made.

"Tell me Initiate, why the hell you cannot shoot straight with a fucking laser rifle!" The Paladin screamed in his face, spittle landing on his cheek. Jackson resisted the urge to roll his eyes and wipe his cheek with his gloved hand; after all he hated energy weapons.

"Sir! I was not trained with laser weaponry, I was trained to use basic firearms, Sir!" He yelled back, and the Paladin glared at him with his blue eyes.

"Well you are going to learn! Initiates! Front and center!" And the five Initiates jogged over to the Paladin. They were currently in the firing range of the Hidden Valley Bunker, or the headquarters of the Special Forces Division. There had been a universal declaration of independence by the Mojave to the NCR and the Legion. Several Rangers, distraught with how the corrupt the Republic became, defected to the new state, becoming the New Vegas Rangers. Jackson had always been in aw of the Rangers, with their black combat armor, their red lens of doom, and their trenchcoats.

"Initiates. For the last seven weeks, you have been training hard. Over eighty percent of your former comrades have dropped out. You are the pinnacle of the training program the State has developed. But sadly, I am being forced to pick one Initiates to leave the Division." The Paladin grimaced. His posture betrayed nothing, but Jackson saw a flicker of doubt and pain.

"Initiate Jackson, front and center." And Jackson immediately walked forward, the weeks of training kicking in.

"Yes sir?" He asked doubtfully, hopefully he wasn't going to be picked to get out of the Division.

"You are one of the best Initiates I ever trained. You are among the strongest, you are among the fastest. Most likely one of the best damn marksman in the entire region. But, on the request of the New Vegas Council, I am being ordered to have you pack up your things, and head to Black Mountain for transport to a disclosed location. You have until tomorrow. Good luck soldier." And he snapped a salute. Jackson immediately returned it. He was mad, no, seething with rage. He had done nothing but obey the Council, the Mojave ruling body, and yet this is how they repaid him? Though he hated the training, he had always wanted to be part of the Special Forces, ever since the emergence of the Independent State of Mojave, he was among the first to sign up.

_Why me? I have done nothing but listen and obey._He hated it, but orders were orders. Heading over to his room, he went over to the foot of the bed. He was wearing just a grey t-shirt, black pants, and goggles. Muttering to himself about how unfair it was for him to be picked out, even though _he _was one of the best Initiates the former Brotherhood had ever received.

"So ya leaving for good, huh?" And out of the corner of his eye, he saw the smirking face of former Brotherhood of Steel Initiate and now Apprentice Watkins. She was a good friend of the young Initiate, well former Initiate. His heart always leaped out to her name, and his eyes always betrayed his true intentions. No lust intended, but sometimes the young mind and body of Jackson betrayed his emotions.

"Yeah, yeah, go ahead and brag Watkins. I just want to know why the Council wants me out of the Special Forces. All I ever did was serve and protect, what my oath demanded me to. To serve the Mojave people, to protect them from all harm, no matter what." And the people of the Mojave had the right to be afraid.

On one border was the New California Republic, now under the leadership of a astute politician and war hero. He was a great leader and turned the NCR around, and was now at war with the last remnants of the BOS in California. His name was Richard Reginald, a former General that had saved the life of former President Kimball, and was the driving force behind the NCR's reforms in the military and state. Though he showed no intention to harm the people of the Mojave State, they certainly in a position to. Jackson thanks the Gods that they were to pre-occupied with the BOS to turn their full attention to the people of the Mojave.

On the other border were the remnants of the Legion. Though they were fractured and weak, they sent raiding parties against the eastern settlements almost daily, so large amounts of troops were concentrated on the western side of the Colorado and the Dam. Dozens of Securitrons were based all over the damn place, but the Legion were smart and able to adapt against the armored foes.

And now in the north were a new power. Moving armored vehicles and aircraft across the desert, these new folks were heading over to the California border. The Republic had made repeated requests for an alliance against these new warriors that were going to war with the NCR and the Council had always said a flat out, "No."

Shaking his mind, he turned his attention back to Watkins, who was looking with a concern written all over her face.

"Hey Jackson, I'm sorry you have to leave, and I know that you are going to great things. I just wanted to say bye before you left..." And the light hazel eyes of Watkins drifted away, refusing to meet the grey eyes of Jackson. Jackson felt a dagger enter his heart as her eyes flickered with pain and heartache, while his eyes flickered with hurt and betrayal.

"Melissa," and she turned to face him, not expecting him to call her by her first name," I have always wanted to tell you that I have been in love with you ever since I saw you. You are the most beautiful girl in the world, and forever I have always wanted to call you mine. Though we have just met a few short weeks ago, I feel like I have been around you my entire life." Jackson said. His heart was beating, pounding against him as his nervousness slowly melted away.

"I hope that you can forgive me for doing this, but nothing will stop me." And he walked up towards her, and seized her wrists. Clearly Watkins wasn't expecting it for surprise was written all over her face, but she soon melted. Jackson was a good five inches taller than her, standing at six foot, and he soon leaned in, closing the gap between their two faces. Flushed with love, he soon pecked her on the lips, waiting for her reaction, hoping to Baby Jesus that she would respond like she hoped she would.

She did. With unexpected eagerness she kissed back, which made Jackson let go of her wrists, and allowed her to wrap her arms around his neck. Pulling her closer, he deepened the kiss, not noticing that the need of oxygen was going to be needed very soon. He soon growled, as he bucked his hips towards her.

"Ooh, someones feisty." She purred in his ears, and he growled again, before attacking her neck. Biting it with an almost animal desire, he heard her gasp with pleasure, and he continued to kiss her neck, ravaging it with love bites. The smell of cactus flower filled the aroma around them, adding to the already pleasant smell of them together.

As they continued this, she soon pulled away. Jackson raised his brow in a question, before she gestured over to the bed in the far corner of the room, looking rather lonely.

"There is a bed in the corner of the room, and I'm feeling a little adventurous...how bout you?" And the response he gave was the only answer to her question.

* * *

The next morning Jackson placed a chaste kiss on Watkins' forehead. He soon packed all of his stuff, and suited up in his grey combat armor. The Brotherhood insignia was on the left shoulder blade of the armor, and as he ascended out of the bunker. His trusty assault carbine was always on his back, where it felt comfortable and secure. The morning was still young as the doors to the bunker slid open, and he walked out, heading towards Black Mountain. Using the mountainous trail, he soon found himself in large area on top of Black Mountain. Six figures were waiting for him.

"Private Jackson, we have been waiting for you." Said the lead one. He was dressed in the grey robes of a Brotherhood elder, with black grey hair and a gruff look, Jackson knew this was Elder McNamara, one of the members of the New Vegas Council, the governing body of the entire region. Two of the figures were dressed in tan power armor, with the insignia of the old war U.S on the shoulder blades of his armor. Jackson had heard of the Enclave Guards, old men and women that had come out of retirement to protect the Courier.

Two other figures were dressed in the Elite Riot Gear of the New Vegas Rangers, while the final one wore a suit of armor that made Jackson's body run cold.

It was made up of massive steel plates, with curved shoulders. Demonic yellow eyes looked at him, trying to intimidate him. The armor itself was colored grey, with three holsters. One holster held a massive .44 Desert Eagle, most likely modified to do even more horrific damage. The other one had a M1911 pistol in it, with an extended mag and silencer. The final one had a massive serrated weapon, at least four feet long and in a scabbard on his back, and the words _Banshee Killer, _scrawled on the blade. Jackson knew this was because he saw the blade before it was put back in its scabbard. In the demon man's hands was the most terrifying thing Jackson ever saw.

It was a cannon of a sorts, with electricity cackling it a tube like shape. It was light grey with the green energy, and it looked like it could someone with a single hit.

"This is Sergeant Moreno, and this Major Gannon of the Enclave Guard. Those two are Veteran Ranger Wolf and the head of the New Vegas Rangers, the Courier." And Jackson jaw dropped in surprise. The Courier?

He had heard about the Courier. When he was part of the Novac militia, before the formation of the Mojave Militia, he seen the smoke rising from the burnt out settlement of Nelson. And he saw the dead Legionnaires piled by the dozens as she and a platoon of NCR troopers demolished the area.

"And that handsome fellow over there, is Head Paladin Richardson of the Mojave Brotherhood of Steel. Skipping the formalities Private, we are welcoming you in the most elite unit the former United States had ever seen." The Elder said. Jackson was surprised as can be. The Rangers were some of the most dangerous men and women the world had ever seen.

"What is it sir?" Jackson asked.

"Welcome to Team Zulu. And you want to our goal son?" The Elder asked.

"What is it sir?"

"Tell him Richardson." And without skipping a beat, Richardson spoke in a powerful filtered voice.

"The destruction of the New California Republic."

**_I know this chapter was shitty and I apologize, but I am in a rush. I want to update my other Fallout Fic, the Thrice Damned, and it is one of my favorite stories I have written. This one will be updated along with The Thrice Damned, but please be patient. My sister is going to be bothering me and I really don't want that. Especially when she is noted to be one of the fastest hackers in the region where I live in. Please be patient. Again like always, leave some feedback, accepting OCs, (please read the first AN) and again, have a nice day!_**


	5. Newbies, Tanks, and The Arrival

**_Thanks for everything guys! Here is the next chapter! Huge thanks to Bronyhood of Steel, for providing me with the OC Paladin! _**

_"Don't fight a battle if you don't gain anything by winning." - Erwin Rommel  
_

_"If the tanks succeed, then victory follows." -Heinz Guderain  
_

**_Brotherhood of Steel Bunker Delta_**

**_Chicago, Illionis_**

_"_Listen up you backwards maggots! I am Paladin Ryczek! I will be teaching you radiation filled primates how to walk, talk, shoot, spit, crawl, smile like a Brotherhood of Steel soldier. I have personally trained forty-five initiates and I am proud to say that the thirty who are alive right now are doing very well in the infimary. I will be training you in the art of war and survival. The Elders have ordered me to make you fat, soft skinned, wrinkled, ugly, dumbasses into Brotherhood soldiers. Though I have trained many warriors back in the day, you are the sorriest pieces of backward tribals I have ever seen in my short and scary life! First order of business. You will go to the armory and pick up some basic weapons and armor! If it were up to me you sorry maggots would be in a straight jacket armed with BB guns trying to fend off the NCR! I have two weeks to train you weak willed, retarted, sons of varmits into fighting killing machines! You lose your gun, it is one week in the box. You lose the armor, one week in the box. You lose both, I am going to dismember you limb by limb, and feed you to the feral ghouls! Do I make myself clear!" The Paladin boomed. The four initiates cringed.

"Sir yes sir!" The four yelled out in unison.

"Good! Dismissed!" and the four started to walk out of the area. But then the Paladin cleared his throat. The four turned back, afraid about what was going to happen.

"One more thing. Welcome to the Brotherhood." The Paladin said before opening the door and heading out to the mess hall. The four initiates were confused but they shrugged, heading towards the armory.

The bunker was three levels. The first two were the mess halls and the barracks. On the third was the armory, the headquarters, and where the heads slept. High tech doors slid open as they descended down the stairs into the third level, wearing their armor that they walked in with.

Crystal Reyes was a tribal that had lived on the frozen shores of Toronto before fleeing a gang of raiders that had raided her homestead. She returned with a hardiness in her heart and a varmint rifle in her hands, and killed three before being subdued. As they were about to rape her, a team of Brotherhood Paladins swooped in and killed the remaining five raiders, before recruiting her into the Brotherhood.

Dante Rivera had been a simple fisherman on the Great Lakes, living on a simple boat for twenty years, just like his family had always done. But Enclave remnants had destroyed the little village that he had sold his fish to, destroyed his ways of living, and destroyed his fishing pole. As the Enclave soldiers were returning to their base, the little fisherman had stolen three pounds of C4 and planted them around the base, blowing up fuel depots the armory. The Brotherhood launched an assault on the base as soon as the dust cleared, and the fisherman was now an initiate.

Remus Douglas had been a hunter, living in the northern parts of Illinois. The wasteland was dangerous, but he had been living there for thirty years, hunting and selling his wares to several large markets in the towns up there. But, a huge poaching operation deprived him, and when he had to steal in order to survive, he was caught by the Brotherhood. But after listening to his situation, the Brotherhood established dominance over the area and hung the ringleaders of the poachers. Remus joined on the spot.

Sandra Waters had been a drug runner, running jet and other illegal drugs on the Great Lakes. She had been on the middle of a drug run when the pirates that preyed on the small settlements there found her boat and opened fire. Stranded for thirteen hours, with naught but a simple 9mm pistol, she was saved by the Brotherhood when jets had rumbled over and destroyed the boats attacking the drug boat she was on. The Brotherhood then presented her with two options. Join the Brotherhood, or die. She joined the Brotherhood.

"Man, that guy was crazy!" complained Crystal. She was five foot seven, with black hair and blue eyes. She had a plain face, but she was curvy and beautiful in all the right places.

"I know man. He scared the shit out of me." Dante replied. He was five-foot six, black hair and brown eyes.

"Don't worry bout it. Let's just get to the armory and we can go do whatever the crazy bastard wants." Remus said. He was six foot, with black hair and dull grey eyes.

"Shit. I wish I had that power armor. That shit is tight!" Sandra said. She was the opposite of everyone else, standing six foot eight with blonde hair and green eyes.

"It is isn't?" and both turned to see a massive figure in the armor approach. He was standing at least six foot eight. With black hair, green eyes and a weathered face, he looked like the demon out of a children's book.

"I am Senior Initiate Raymond Reeves. I will be taking you guys on your first combat/training mission. " the Senior Initiate had a glint of slight madness in his eyes, but then again, who wasn't a little mad these days?

"What's our mission?" asked Sandra Waters.

"We are going out to relieve a Brotherhood garrison out at Rock Falls. The squad there is under siege by rouge raiders that have managed to escape destruction. Usually, it wouldn't be a problem, but there is literally dozens, maybe a hundred or so there. We're going load into Hummers and reinforce them." the Initiate looked at them with a cocked head.

"Is there any questions?" he asked. Remus raised his hand.

"Yes Initiate?"

"Are we going to get any training? Any armor, weapons, that kind of things?" asked Remus.

"On the job training. We are lacking in training personnel, since most of the Paladins and the Knights went west to deal with the New California Republic. The Lost Hills Chapter and the Mojave Chapter are gathering their men in order to relieve it, and we might sign an alliance with the Independent State of the Mojave. But, we can never know. The New California Republic has mast reserves of men, material, and armor. We are facing an enemy that might just outmatch us. But we cannot falter. For we are the Brotherhood. You have one hour to suit up and get ready from the armory. Knight Singleton will be your quartermaster. Treat him well, and he will treat you well. Piss him off, and you are going to be a world of hurt." Raymond said, before letting out a small chuckle.

"Is there any questions?" asked Raymond. Looking around, the squad of Initiates was quiet.

"Good. Move out, and get ready to meet the rest of the squad." and the squad dispersed, heading towards the armory.

The armory was just a side room sealed off, with a single door and a single counter next to the door. A black man in recon armor was handling a checklist, writing down things with an ancient pen.

"So, three dozen rifles, three dozen pistols, six thousand rounds of 5.56 mm ammo. A little bit of this, a little bit of that, maybe some tea...Oh! Hello, welcome to Bunker Delta's armory. What can I do for you?" he asked. His voice was weathered, his mouth twitching in a small circle.

"Uhh...I am Initiate Douglas. Here is my requests." he said awkwardly, before handing Singleton a slip of paper. Reading it carefully, the black knight rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"AH! A suit of Brotherhood leather armor," he said, before reaching into a locker and pulling out a set of brotherhood leather armor, " and a hunting rifle huh? WITH A scope? Hell no boy, you get the regular hunting rifle just like the rest of the whelps that think their sharpshooters. And a 9mm pistol, that's easy enough. A combat knife, well, we got plenty of those. 100 rounds of 7.62 mm rounds, and 65 rounds of 9 mm. Here you go son." and the weathered knight handed the man his equipment. Remus' face lit up like a Christmas tree before dashing off to get changed. Dante then stepped up.

"My name is Dante Rivera. Here is my requests." the small fisherman gave him the slip of paper.

"Ahh, let's see. The same armor, a MP5, lord knows why, a .44 magnum?! Hell no boy, the gun blow you apart! I'll start you off with a .45 Colt. It's a piece of beauty, is she not? Take care of her, don't mess her up, or I'll mess you up, you hear? And two satchel charges and six grenades? Boy, you trying to kill me? I'll give you three grenades, and one satchel charge. Come back alive, and maybe I'll give you the equipment you want? Here's a knife, don't cut yourself. 200 rounds of 9 mm, and 60 rounds of .45." he said before handing Dante his equipment. Dante went off to get change as well, a little sullen cause he didn't get all the equipment he wanted.

"MY name is Sandra Waters. Here is my requests." the former drug runner gave the knight the paper. Again, the knight rubbed his clean shaven skin.

"A pump action shotgun? Damn girl, hope you can hold that thing without dropping it! A ripper?! Hell no girl, you gonna saw yourself in half if I gave you that! I'll start you off with a machete. Don't cut yourself, I already got into enough trouble. A 9mm pistol, that's easy enough. And of course, the same armor you all enjoy." and he handed her the equipment. She went off to get change as well, a little sullen because she didn't get her ripper.

"Hi, my name is Crystal Reyes. Here is my requests." she then handed him the slip of paper. He looked at the paper, then at her, then back at the paper. He then whistled.

"Brotherhood armor. That's always a given. An AK-47? You serious girl? Good thing I got plenty of those, otherwise I would have just slapped you for that outrageous request. A Mauser? Very interesting. Of course, the combat knife. Here's your equipment. Don't break it all, I still need to get paid." and she sauntered off, getting changed.

An hour later, the four Initiates were all in the motor pool, where an assortment of vehicles were. Powerful tanks with their huge cannons were being repaired by their crews. Armored Personnel Carriers were rolling out constantly, along with the armored Hummers. At least a dozen different vehicles were constantly streaming in and out of the motor pool.

The Brotherhood had three distinct advantages over the common raider. Power Armor, and vehicular transportation. Hummers with .50 cal machine guns provided a constant patrol on the ruined interstates, streets, and highways of the land. Troops in Power Armor proved a deterrent for all but the most dangerous of raiders and wasteland critters. And also, they had one more thing.

Non-human troops. Super Mutants, ghouls, machine legions that were under direct control of the Calculator himself. And standing right next to flat bed truck, was a massive deathclaw. Massive claws that extended to three feet, as long as a sword, while horns the size of human legs gutted from it's head. It was hairy as well. Interlocking plates of armor circulated it's hide. Deathclaws were already able to cut down dozens of troops by themselves. Give them armor and a cloaking device, and you might as well throw in the towel.

"Helllo. My name isss Sssamuel. I ammma deathclaw with the deathclaw divisssion." the deathclaw then extended his hand to Crystal.

"When a deathclaw gives you his hand, it isss wissse to ssshake it." and Crystal, without any hint of fear or emotion in her face, she extended a Kevlar glove to the deathclaw and shook it with vigor.

"Goood. A ssstrong handssshake. One of a leader. Not like these weaklingsss." and he threw his head to the side, as if indicating that is was the rest of the squads.

"Listen up squad! We are meeting the rest of the detachment at Outpost Grail. Demon Squad will be leading you. I will be your squad leader. Our squad's name is Fallen Angels. If there is any objections, take it up with Samuel, he'll convince you why that name is good." and Samuel, with a hideous grin, saliva dripping from his chin. The other Initiates suddenly did not have a problem with it.

Crystal, however, was curious. Why did they have that name? She rose her hand. Raymond gave her a nod, indicating that she may speak.

"Why that name?" and the Senior Initiate smiled widely.

"Because my friend, we are all fallen angels. Trying to make up for sins of the past. We are not perfect, nor do we wish to be. But we are all fallen one way or another."

**_Camp Austin, New California _****_Republic_**

The lightly armored M-2 continued on it's way towards the camp. The Pacific Ocean was on the left flank of the camp, meaning that the only way to the camp was through the North, which was held by the cursed Brotherhood of Steel, the east, held by New California Republic Rangers of the 3rd Ranger Battalion, and the south, which was where the main towns and cities of the Republic was.

"Man it's hot," complained Sergeant Duncan. The tank continued on the ruined highway towards the camp of the 3rd Armor Division. The hot sun was beating down on the Republic today, with a cloudless blue sky on the horizon. There was no wind, nothing to help the swaying of the dead trees that were the result of the hot sun.

"It doesn't even cut it man. It's freaking winter, and yet it's hot as hell!" Corporal Theta said. The four man crew of the Tank Destroyer continued down the highway, part of the convoy heading towards Camp Austin.

With the fall of San Francisco, and the entrance of the Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel, the Republic was wheeling back. The Nevada border was being attacked by the Midwest Brotherhood of Steel, while the the main cities were being threatened by the long range bombers. Luckily, with a new shipment of anti-air guns by the Crimson Caravan, the majority of the cities were protected by dozens of long range missiles and anti-aircraft cannons.

Republic High Command was baffled by this new enemy. The Republic had over one million people living in the country, according to the last census, but the power of the Brotherhood that was being projected rivaled the Armor Corps of the New California Republic Army.

"You hear that General Oliver is being replaced by Colonel Moore? As the commander of the Army Group North. Also, we got a lot of Rangers being pulled outta Baja, and six battalions being redeployed to the major cities." Duncan said, and Theta whistled. Six battalions were equal to over six hundred men, a company was about thirty or so men. Squads were five, and platoons were ten. There wasn't enough manpower to have a full division, but with six hundred men, it might as well be a full division. A regiment was made up of three battalions, which was three hundred men. Two regiments were equal to a brigade, and two brigades were equal to a division.

"Which division?" asked Theta.

"5th Infantry. They are being redeployed to the eastern mountains. Six hundred men." The New California Republic boasted over sixty thousand men, but the majority of them were tied up north and east against the Brotherhood threat. Only a few thousand were left defending their southern border, which left them open to a massive assault in the south.

The tank destroyer crew rolled down the highway for the next hour. A New California Republic Vertibird, one of the few up north, roared by, the powerful engines banking to the right over the convoy.

"Hold up convoy, we got trouble. Looks to be pirates again." and the crew groaned. Pirates were the biggest threat on the shores of the Republic. Fishing communities on the coastline were constantly raided, forcing the Republic to divert troops from the south to garrison these villages.

High powered speedboats were heading towards the shore, in the hope of raiding another village.

"Duncan, you think you can take them out?" asked a voice over the radio.

"Yeah six, we got this. Theta, load the cannon. Romeo and Juliet, stop sucking face and aim it." and the two tank crew members in the back, one of them the gunner, the other the operator of the machine gun on the top, were red faced.

"Got ya boss." and soon the gun was pointing towards the coast. Three boats full of pirates were heading to a small fishing village, when the gun raised up.

"Got a lock?" asked Duncan. The cannon was 105mm, considered overkill, but dealing with pirates, nothing was overkill.

"Yeah boss." and the cannon fired, a puff of smoke emitted from the red barrel as the cannon roared. A screaming round impacted on one of the speedboats, making it topple over into the water and detonating. A cacophony of cannon fire ripped through the speedboats, making them disappear into the watery depths. The vertibird made a pass over the wreckage of the boats, unleashing a volley of laser fire into the burning fires, turning anyone that survived into ash.

"Pirates dead in the water. I repeat, pirates dead in the water." and the convoy headed north once more.

The New California Republic tankers finally reached the camp. It was in a former police station, just expanded upon. A massive chain link fence surrounded the place, with depots of armor, ammo, and weapons scattered throughout. Desert brown tents were scattered as well, holding different companies. Familiar red berets were seen on the edge of the camp, in reinforced redoubts and foxholes. _The last thing you'll never see._

"Expecting trouble?" asked Duncan. The red beret man looked up, a thin metal breastplate with the decor of the two headed bear drawn on it. A face mask was pulled over his lower half of the face, and he looked at the tanker. The tank driver and commander was dressed in the same armor, but with something cool. He had a combat helmet on, with a mail mask over his lower face. The tanks that the Armor Corps drove were sometimes prone to exploding, and the mail on the mask would provide some protection. Glasses were covering his brown eyes.

"Yeah. Brotherhood scouts are popping up. We managed to kill three, but one of the got a shot at the commander of the place and put him in the infirmary for a while. Colonel Guzman is in charge for right now." and Duncan inwardly groaned. Guzman was a man that advocated attack, attack, and just in case you didn't get it, attack. He wasn't cautious, and for the thousand or so men in Camp Austin, it could mean death for them.

"God help us all. Why does the man think we are invincible?"

The Brotherhood main battle tank or MBT was the M1 Abrams. It was deadly and efficient, and was a bad day for the Republic. The M4 Sherman used by the Brotherhood as well was dangerous, but was not as dangerous as the M1.

The New California Republic Main Battle Tank was the M60 Patton. Though not as powerful as the M1, it could still be a bad day for the M4 Sherman. But the main deterrent was the M2 Grizzly Tank Destroyer. With a massive 105 mm cannon that fired Armor piercing rounds, the M1 Abrams crews of the Brotherhood always avoided them if they could.

"I don't know. All I know is that we are being moved out to the plains outside of San Francisco. We are facing the main thrust from the Brotherhood, while our Rangers secure the flanks." the 1st Recon sniper suddenly inhaled and looked through his scope. He then pulled the trigger, and the .308 hunting rifle barked, letting out a projectile that sped towards it's target.

"Fourth scout down." he said in his personal radio.

"He also says die for your country. That's kinda stupid." Duncan said. The 1st Recon sniper agreed, by nodding his head.

"Hey, do you ever study a guy named Patton?" asked the sniper.

"No, why?" asked Duncan, puzzled.

"Because he also said this. No bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country." the 1st Recon sniper said. Duncan rubbed his beard, before looking at the young sniper.

"That my friend, is something we should be practicing and doing, but we always die for ours. Just as the Legion. Just ask the President. Just ask General Wait and See Oliver." the tanker muttered. He had been a tanker during the Legion War, facing the steam chariots of the south, destroying dozens. But there was always more.

"I can't wait for leave. I got a girl that lives in a small town south of the Hub." the 1st Recon sniper said, trying to extend the conversation.

"Really? What does she do?" Duncan asked.

"She's a waitress for a diner. Really nice girl, I plan on marrying her. I love her to death man." the sniper said before inhaling once more and firing. Off in the distance, a scout in recon armor catapulted back, his head missing.

"Two scouts released from their torment. The rest are either gone or keeping their heads down." the sniper said in his radio once more.

"What's your name?" asked Duncan.

"Name's Ace of Spades. Used to be King, but since my stuttering problem was cured, I got a promotion. I'm the head of Bravo Team of the 1st Recon." the sniper said, before extending his hand.

"Sergeant Duncan, 3rd Armor Division. Commander of Black Panther over there." and he pointed to the massive tank destroyer over his shoulder.

"She's a nice machine. How long you been in the Army?" asked Ace of Spades, while spitting on the ground.

"Six, going on seven. Mamma always said that I was going to be a tanker. Said it was in my blood." and as Ace of Spades was about to respond, a massive thunderclap tore through the camp, and a torrent of activity started. Tankers were gassing up, 1st Recon snipers digging out of their holes. Duncan stopped a trooper as he started to run past him.

"What's happening Private?" he asked. The Private was young but energetic.

"The Colonel sent out the word. The Empire is coming to help us!" and the Sergeant was confused.

"Who's the Empire?" asked the Sergeant. But the Private was to excited to say anything, but he did point towards the ocean.

On the horizon, with the sun beating down, the Sergeant saw a massive armada of ships. Steel ships with massive cannons on them, some of the ships almost a thousand feet long. But the biggest ships deck was flat, with strange metal machines on them. Propeller driven airplanes flew of the decks of the massive ships, making a weird errr sound.

And on the biggest ship, one with three turrets, with three guns each, was a red sun on a white background,the flag flapping in the billowing Pacific wind.

**You Really think I'm going to allow the New California Republic get's it ass handed to them that easy? I love the Republic, don't get me wrong, and I love the Brotherhood, but I got to have some Asian Pride! The next chapter will be explaining how this came to be. And the armor is real except for the Grizzly. **

**Thanks and please review!**


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